Her First Assignment...

Exiting the restroom, she searches for the main office. She scanned the muted taupe walls for signs. (Why did they always soften the colors in hospitals and clinics? Does it really decrease the amount of panic?)

Her gaze dropped on an office door which read "Dr. Henrietta Heathrow, Administrator." She knocked, the brass name plate shook, the tin echoing down the hall.

"Just a minute!" cried a voice from inside. She heard the sound of papers, ruffling angrily, followed by the click of thick heels.

"Good morning, can I help you?" a tall dark haired woman asked.
"I am here to do my community service," she replied. "Are you Dr. Heathrow?"

"Guilty," was the doctor's reply. "You're supposed to check in up front, but we'll get that taken care of. Come in. I'll brief you."

She followed the doctor into a snug office, stacks of books and papers took up much of the space. Clipboards hung loosely from a few wall hooks. As Dr. Heathrow walked behind her desk, she noticed that already before 9 am, the poor woman had a long, irritating run up her black stocking.

"So, they gave us you today, huh? Lucky for me, you're the only comm-serv today. I don't have to spend hours briefing a bunch of "I don't give a shits" on my patients nor do I have to sway more folks on the benefits of therapy." She sat down hard, her rolling chair scooting a bit off to the right.

"I'm sorry about this," she acknowledged. "It must be inconvenient."

"Bah. Nevermind that. I don't do apologies or fake sincerity. Out with it. What'd you do?"

She told the doctor her story, editing most things out for brevity and for sense of the occasion.
She closed with, "and now I'm here."

"I see," Dr. Heathrow responded, shuffling a few notepads.
It was then she detected an acrid smell, something filmy and out of the ordinary for a hospital. Smoke?

Noticing the look, Dr. Heathrow smiled. "I'm busted. I've been smoking. Care for one?" She took a cigarette out of her desk, lit it, and breathed calmly.
"Even the big dogs break rules to stay sane," she laughed.

It'd been ages since she'd smoked. So she declined.

The doctor continued, "Your first assignment is James. He's in #204. A bit of an identity crisis, honestly. Nothing too serious. However, he dealt with his bipolarism by drinking a fifth of vodka and then driving his car through the front of Washington Mall. Unfortunately, he ran over a security guard, a toy poodle and a couple ficus trees in the process."

She almost laughed. She couldn't help it.

"How long does he have to stay here?" she asked the doctor.

"Not forever, a few more weeks. Then he serves some time. The treatment is what takes forever in his mind. He's completely anti-therapy. Thinks he's fine. Denial is what makes it worse. You'll see," she responded.

She had to agree with this statement. Dr. Heathrow grabbed a chart, pulled some papers out of it and handed it to her. "You get the basics - a little history, the crime(s), and a few photos. That's it. Just enough to relate and help."

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked.
"With James? You're gardening in the greenhouse and then you meet with me again."

She tapped her foot, a bit nervous about everything all of sudden.
"What about my afternoon assignment?" she asked.

"You have Andrew," the doctor replied. "We'll discuss it later."
Dr. Heathrow grabbed her own clipboard, the back was tan, but covered with scribbles.
The doctor threw her hair back, stubbed her cigarette, and came back around the desk. "Let's get started," she said.


Later, as she filled out the introductory form, she glanced back at the scribbles on the doc's clipboard. Admist trees, moons, suns, plants, and stars were what looked like song lyrics. She narrowed her gaze to read them...

Safe inside myself
Are all my thoughts of you
All lights turned down, softened
Hiding what only I know is true
Must protect what's left within
Scar tissues only hide my sins
Through this shield,
Through my shade,
Exists all that's left
That is not yet shame.

I wanted you to have
What's left of me
Fear is what paralyzes
Desire to get down to you
Without having to tell just lies
Sense this much and be sure
Because I already taste you in my tears
You've made no departure
And that is all I fear

In my mind it is always winter
Though my body always feels your sun...

Taped to the bottom of the clipboard, beneath the words, was Katherine's business/blog business card...